


You Can't Judge a Man by the Cut of His Cloth

by Tallulah_Rasa



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallulah_Rasa/pseuds/Tallulah_Rasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack O'Neill has a tough day at the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Judge a Man by the Cut of His Cloth

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Season 8; written 2005-2006. This is _very ___silly. And also a little linty.
> 
> So, there was this "Angel" episode in which Angel was temporarily turned into a puppet...

_Okay_.

Just another day at the office.

He was in his office-- and he didn't remember _getting_ to his office, but that was nowhere near the top of his list of things to worry about -- and he was at his desk, but he was having trouble seeing over it, because he was short.   Very short.  And also kind of fuzzy, in a felt-y sort of way. And he was starting to think, when he looked down at his three-fingered, softly napped, sort-of peach-y hands, that the reflection he'd caught sight of in his office window-- the reflection that looked a lot like a gray, extremely cranky Muppet-- was, in fact, _his_ reflection. That he, General Jack O'Neill, was a ...a ...

A puppet.

_Crap._

Jack looked down again at his hands, which were really more like oven mitts, and thought that it was going to be damned hard to pick up the phone to alert the Joint Chiefs and the President about today's particular situation at the SGC. Or to pick up a P-90, should anyone wandering by his office decide to crack a Kermit joke. Or to--

Jack sent up a quick, fervent prayer to the gods, both human and puppet: _Please don't let me have to pee until this is over._   Zipper logistics aside, having felt _hands_ was freaking him out enough.

_Okay._

Jack took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the feeling of felt-y hairs in his nose. _Sit rep._ Well, obviously something was going on at the SGC. A foothold situation, or an incursion, or something. By...alien kindergarten teachers with blunt-end scissors? The Henson family? Who would cause a freaking thing like _this,_ anyway?

And then it came to him: _Daniel must have touched something._

The thought of it made him clench his sort-of hands and draw his eyebrows together, and he was momentarily distracted by the realization that one eyebrow was kind of...loose. He'd have to fix that; get a needle and thread and--

_First things first._ He should probably check out the base. See if _everyone_ was a puppet. Of course, that would mean getting out of his chair, and it looked like a long way down. And he wasn't really all that confident about walking, anyway, what with having felt legs, for crying out loud.  And knees. And maybe a felt--

Jack thumped his head on the chair arm. _Well, on the bright side, if the Goa'uld decide to attack us now, they'll die of laughter._

A hesitant voice broke into his thoughts. "Sir--?"

_Carter! Yes!_ If anyone, man or puppet, could figure this out, it would be Carter. "Come on in, Carter!"

"I don't see--" Sam began, but then she did.

"Problem, Colonel?" Jack asked, trying to look normal, and not like a peach-felt puppet. He was pleased to see that his second-in-command was human, though he couldn't help wondering about _her_ color. She was turning an odd shade of reddish-purple.

"Uh--uh--no, Ssssss\--" Sam managed to get out, before she fled from Jack's office, shrieking with laughter.

And hell, _that_ wasn't the behavior he most wanted to see in his second-in-command, under the circumstances.  Or, really, under _any_ circumstances. Carter was supposed to admire him. Respect him. Lust after him a little, even. Having her bust a gut at the sight of him was, well, hard on the ego.

Jack sniffed, and wondered what happened to felt when it got damp.

Daniel barreled in at that moment. "Jack, how could you _possibly_ turn down my recommendation about P35-709? Did you even read my report? The pictures SG-5 brought back clearly indicate that the ruins are extremely old, probably of Ancient design, and they show definite signs of housing a repository of--"

"Daniel . ..?" Jack interrupted.

"A repository of knowledge," Daniel continued. "Similar to the one we found on Ernest's planet. And no matter what you think of the relative importance of 'pure' knowledge, Jack, as compared to the technical or military advantages you perceive as being--"

"Daniel!" Jack said more loudly.

"Jack," Daniel said evenly. "Very good. We know our names. Can I go on, now?"

"Daniel, do you notice anything, oh, _different_ , here?"

Daniel looked around briefly. "They finally painted your office," he said. "It's about time. But look, Jack, the possibilities on P35-709 are simply--"

" _Daniel!_ " Jack cut him off. "Anything _else_?"

Daniel sighed and peered over his glasses. "You have a new blotter," he said.

Jack looked down. Damn, he _did_ have a new blotter.

"And you're a puppet," Daniel went on. "Anything else you want to know? Or can I go on? This is important, Jack."

"I'm a _puppet_ , Daniel! Don't you have, oh, I don't know, some _questions_ about that?"

Daniel sighed the heartfelt sigh of a man who'd spent a great deal of time in the company of Jack O'Neill. "I've worked at the SGC for eight years, Jack," he said patiently. "I've seen you as a 100-year-old man, a Neanderthal, a giant cricket, and a popsicle, and that's just at work. If I questioned every single weird thing you ever said or did, I'd never have time to do anything else. I've learned to prioritize, Jack. Right now, what's important is the mission to P35-709. We can deal with--" he gestured vaguely to Jack, "other stuff later." He peered over his glasses again. "Though you ought to get someone in here with a needle and thread," he added."Your eyebrow looks like it's going to take off and start a life of its own."

"Daniel, so help me, I'm--"

"O'Neill," Teal'c announced, entering Jack's office.

" _What?_ "Jack roared.

"You appear to be a puppet."

_Ya_ _think?_ "Tell Daniel," Jack said wearily.

"I know," Daniel said. "Okay? I _know_. I'm just saying that P35--"

"You also," Teal'c said, or rather intoned, "appear to be ...adorable."

" _Teal'c_?" Daniel's eyebrows shot up so fast Jack thought he might have to catch them.  Which could be a problem, what with the oven mitt hands.

"I'm not adorable," Jack huffed.

"Indeed you are," Teal'c said. "I believe you look--what is the Tau'ri saying? Ah, yes. You look good enough to eat." And he grinned a truly awful grin as he approached the desk. Jack could see his -- geez, but the guy had _fangs_! Huge,  honkin' big fangs, sharp ones, and Jack yelled **_NO!_** and tried to scoot back, away, but Teal'c was still coming toward him, reaching for him, and Jack heard that awful voice saying, "Sir . ..?" and felt someone touching his shoulder--

**_"NO!!"_** he screamed, and he grabbed the horrible fanged thing around the neck and _squeezed._

"Uggghhh Sssrrr?" someone choked out.

Jack opened one eye, and saw his hand-- his skin-covered, calloused, four-fingers-and-a-thumb hand -- around Walter Harriman's throat. "Uh, sorry," he blurted, releasing his grip.

Walter scooted back a prudent few feet. "No problem, Sir," he said, rubbing his neck. "But you _did_ ask me to come to your quarters and wake you fifteen minutes before SG-1's radio check-in."

Jack sat up -- _I'm in my bed, I'm in my quarters--_ and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Walter, am I a puppet?"

"Uh, is this a metaphorical thing, Sir?" Walter asked cautiously. "Because it's just past 0200 hours, and frankly, Sir, I can't handle that sort of thing before breakfast."

"Is that my TV I hear?" Jack asked blearily, looking around the room. _I'll bet George never had days like this._

"Yes, Sir. You fell asleep with it on."

"And the tape in the VCR -- it wouldn't by any chance be labeled, 'Angel -- Final Season', would it?"

Walter checked. "Yes, Sir."

"Walter, you have to stop letting me do this."

Walter straightened up. "I tried, Sir," he said. "Once the situation with SG-11 settled down, and SG-7 was able to check in about that problem on P22-071, and the infirmary reported that SG-3 would be fine, and I finally got you to your quarters to take a break. I tried to take the tape out of the VCR, but you said if I laid a finger on it you'd shove it where--"

"Walter!" Jack was aghast. "I _threatened_ you?"

"You hadn't eaten or slept in twenty hours, Sir," Walter said. "I took your words to be, well, exhaustion."

"Thank you, Walter," Jack said. "I--"

"And unrealistic," Walter added, grinning only slightly. "Because really, Sir, I don't think even _you_ could fit a --"

"Understood," Jack said hurriedly. "But for the record -- I apologize."

"SG-1 should be checking in in about ten minutes, Sir," Walter said. "Coffee and breakfast will be waiting for you in the Control Room."

"You're a good man, Walter. A very good man. Dismissed."

"And--Sir?" Walter said, turning at the door. "For what it's worth, I don't think you're a puppet. You're a great leader, as well as a man of great integrity."

Jack just stood there for a moment. "I -- thank you, Walter."

"You're welcome, Sir," Walter said, and then he was gone.

Jack took a breath, and then went to wash his face and straighten his clothes. He carefully avoided looking in the mirror, just in case.

Just another day at the office.

_Okay_.

END 


End file.
